


Pre-Dawn Pep Talks

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Dolls Just Wants To Sleep, Established Relationship, F/M, Pregnonna has Valid Concerns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: “Nobody grows hooves,” he says matter-of-factly.  “You either have them or you don’t.”





	Pre-Dawn Pep Talks

The bed is empty when he wakes up, alarm clock reading 3:28 in glaring red.  He pushes up onto his elbow and looks blindly around the otherwise pitch black bedroom.  If he listens, if he strains, he can hear footsteps.  He rolls out of bed, stumbles into his sweats—sleeping with Wynonna is a little like sleeping with a furnace, but at least now this is second nature after _one_ too many near-shows—and out into the hall.  He finds Wynonna pacing a hole in the rug and chewing her nails.

“Come to bed, love,” he says, voice hoarse and thick with sleep.  She’s big enough to pop, due any day now, and she’s been getting less and less sleep lately.  In the dim light of the dying fire, he can just see the circles under her eyes.  “Wynonna.”

“I had a dream the baby had horns and hooves—what if the kid has horns and hooves?” she demands faintly.

When he comes closer, she stops and lets him tug her against his chest.  “You have the ultrasound pictures.  No horns.  No hooves,” he assures her calmly.  “No wings, no boney plates, no claws.”

“What if she _grows_ horns and hooves?”

“We’ll file the horns down, like Hellboy,” he says, hands stroking through her hair.  “And if she grows wings, we’ll put her on a leash when we go out.  And if she grows scales and claws and a _tail_ , we’ll get a terrarium.”  She snorts and drops her head on his shoulder.  “Little sun light, some plants…”

“And the hooves?” she prompts.

“Nobody grows hooves,” he says matter-of-factly.  “You either have them or you don’t.”

“What if she has bright red skin and grows fangs?” she asks.

“Then I suggest you stop breast-feeding at that point,” he replies dryly.  “Hey, look at me,” he says gently, and she obligingly turns her head so she can, “No matter what she is, we got this.  She’s got a whole bunch of people who already love her—a whole bunch of people who are _really used_ to being around supernatural creatures.  Unless she grows up to be a Nickelback fan, there’s nothing that’s gonna change that.”

“Okay,” she breathes, still tense.  “Okay.”

“You ready to go back to bed?”

She groans, “It took me, like, ten minutes to get out of that bed.  I burned too many calories.  I think I deserve ice cream.”

“Let’s get ice cream, then—but, then, _bed_ ,” he whispers into her hair, punctuated with a quick kiss before steering her to the kitchen.  He just hands her the carton and a spoon—it’s, like, half full, he’s not gonna bother dirtying a bowl for that—and she favors him with a small smile.  But she’s eating uncharacteristically distractedly.  He knows her style, she eats all the good stuff before the actual ice cream with the kind of laser focus he wished she’d display in, well, _work_.  “What else is bothering you?”

Her eyes narrow as she leans back into the counter.  “What if I fuck her up?  She’s gonna be an Earp, so she’s already primed for it—what if she turns out like—” she stops and wrinkles her nose and doesn’t _quite_ meet his gaze.

“Yeah, it’d be a real shame for her to turn out like Waverly,” he mutters, tilting his head a little.

“Don’t be an ass,” she scowls.  “She’s, like, half me and half creepy sex dream demon—she’s gonna be _so screwed up_.”

“She’s—you’re not gonna screw her up,” he says.  “She’s gonna be a terror, but she’ll take shit from no one, and you’re gonna be hell on wheels at PTA meetings.”

“Your pep talks get weird at four AM,” she laughs, but her shoulders have loosened up a little.

“But it’s working,” he counters pointedly.  He grins when she eyes him, but she offers no response.  “You got eighteen years to worry about this, so maybe don’t wear yourself out too early.”  Her little huff is humorless but sounds more tired than anything else; her hand is wet and icy when it slips into his elbow to tug him closer so she can rest her head on his shoulder.  Doing his best not to nod off, he stays put while she finishes off the carton.  “Please say you’re ready for bed now.”

Her lips are cold and taste like caramel.  “I’m ready for bed now,” she says almost into his mouth.


End file.
